The Alpha Effect: Part 1: Encounter
by Boomer Gonzales
Summary: A forgotten past remerges. A past that could destroy the SWA. All that we known is; before there were little girls, there was a little boy. Introduction to a three part series. Rewritten and revised.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Notes: This story is a three part epic, based on the anime with manga references as very rarely do the manga and anime agree. All characters not included in the original series, either anime or manga are originals of my own. I hope you enjoy the story.

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights; property, intellectual, financial, distribution, etc., to _Gunslinger Girl_. All rights therein are the possession of Yu Aida, Media Works Inc., and Funimation Entertainment.

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* * *

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**I**

"Do either of you mind explaining how our two best fratello are found lying unconscious no more than ten meters from plain sight?"

A cold chill washed over the room as dim lights from the ceiling lent an uncomfortable mood to those who sat. Triela, Hillshire, José, and Henrietta were motionless at Jean's assault. Normally for them, this was a briefing before being assigned a mission. This summons however, had come after.

"We've recovered surveillance footage from the home of Senore' Demitri. Let's watch it again shall we?"

Silence spoke loudly as the soft electronic hum of the equipment was all they could hear.

"Now, pay attention. Here's where Triela leads in with Henrietta followed by José. Both of you girls go to opposite sides of the room with you men covering the doors. Now, you girls head upstairs while Hilshire and José case the lower floor. Then; you girls check the main office on the second floor, step out, then static. So," he finished standing in front of them again, "what happened?"

"We were attacked," José said.

"Obviously," Jean replied.

"Someone got to the target before we did," Hilshire added.

"We discovered the objective's remains upon entering the upper floor office," Triela added. "I told Henrietta to go downstairs to notify José and Hilshire of a possible hostile within the perimeter."

Henrietta nervously began, "When I got down, I found José and Hilshire lying on the floor of the dining room. I ran to check on them before I heard something that sounded like an air gun round. All I remember after that is feeling numb and falling down."

"I searched all of the upstairs rooms and found nothing," Triela continued. "I went to the loft overlooking the main room and saw a glimpse of someone climbing out the skylight. I jumped off the balcony to the floor below and ran to find a back door. I found a door in the kitchen leading to a delivery alley. When I got out of the house, only the street exit was lit, everything else was in shadow. I heard a sound behind me. I turned toward that sound, but before I could react my Winchester went flying into a corner. I heard a mumbling behind me, before all my body felt numb."

"So the hostile got behind you twice?" Jean inquired.

"Yes, sir," Triela answered.

"What if they were two?"

"I don't believe so, sir."

"Explain."

"I heard only one set of footsteps the entire time."

"So they were faster than you."

"I believe so."

"Judging from reports of your past missions and the bare fact of your having a cyborg body and mind, you'll see how hard it is for me to believe that statement."

"It's possible, sir," Hilshire answered.

"I agree with Hilshire," José seconded. "The hostile who attacked us moved so fast I could have sworn they were a cyborg as well."

"Could you make a positive I. D.?" Jean retorted.

"No, sir," José and Hilshire answered.

"Then this is all theoretical hearsay. If you all have nothing more to report on this matter, then this debriefing will continue at a later time; dismissed."

The four of them stood up to walk out. As they exited the room, a well dressed woman rushed in almost knocking over Henrietta.

"…Ferro?" Jean asked.

"We've just recovered the feed from a security camera overlooking the alley where we found Triela."

"I thought all we had was static?"

"There was, but this must have been farthest from the source. We were able to be clean it up."

"Should I call back José and Hillshire?"

"No, please don't. This footage you should see first along with Dr. Bianchi and Director Lorenzo."

"I'm a very busy man, Ferro," the director said taking a seat.

"This better be important Jean. I was doing necessary research with Claes," Bianchi said entering the room.

"It is. Will you please close and lock the door Dr. Bianchi?" Ferro answered him.

Dr. Bianchi closed the door as Ferro played the footage. The three men watched the monitor when they saw Triela stop just outside a building. They paid close attention at what appeared to be a blur attacking Triela, before watching her fall to the ground.

"It just clarifies Triela's account of the mission," Jean said folding his arms.

"I still don't see what this has to do with me," said Dr. Bianchi as he firmly put his hands inside of his lab coat pockets.

"Nor me," Lorenzo chided in.

"That's not what you need to see," Ferro said walking to the control panel of the vid-player. "Watch…"

Zooming in on the person standing over Triela, Ferro played the footage frame-by-frame. Both Lorenzo and Dr. Bianchi couldn't hold their gasps.

"That was my initial reaction," Ferro said facing them all.

"It can't be," said Dr. Bianchi.

"I believe it is," Ferro replied. "But he was supposed to have died. That explosion took out an entire city block in Naples."

"Apparently he hasn't," Jean added. "He's already taken down two fratello single-handed.

"What's worse," Ferro continued, "…I believe he knows about us."

"What do you mean?" Lorenzo asked.

"The serum sample," Jean inquired.

"Yes," Ferro answered. "He used a neurotoxin on the girls. It used to be manufactured by the British military, but no longer. It's engineered to stop motor nervous function and disable sensory function. This particular sample was very concentrated. We dug about three milliliters out of Triela and Henrietta. If any of _us_ would've taken even a fraction of that, we would be dead before hitting the ground."

"He was the original," Bianchi said walking toward the screen, "before Section 1, before there was even a Social Welfare Agency. He was the original test subject with the original technology. Everything I do now is based on direct analysis after the original files were destroyed."

"This knowledge never leaves this room," Lorenzo finally chided in. "This conversation only happened in our imaginations." Lorenzo stood up from his seat facing them all, "Jean, Bianchi."

"Sir," they answered.

"I want this to be the only copy of the footage. It will remain with me at all times. Relocate anybody who was around during the old days. Anybody that can answer questions _curious little girls_ might ask. Give them assignments of choice, I'll authorize it."

"Yes, right away." Bianchi confirmed. Jean merely nodded.

"Dismissed," Lorenzo said with finality. Jean and the doctor left, while Lorenzo looked back at the monitor with a mix of sorrow, anger, confusion, and disdain. "Why have you returned…why now?"

* * *

Triela had been mute since returning from the debriefing. Claes was buried in her new chemistry textbook and Triela decided not to interrupt her. 'How easy it must be,' Triela thought. 'Just sitting up there with nothing to do, but read. To only here about missions instead of partaking in them.'

"Okay, I give up," Claes muttered, "What happened?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. What was that Claes?" Triela said craning her head toward the sound.

"What happened? In the field, I mean," Claes said; her eyes remaining in her book.

"I don't know what you mean."

"You're like a library dictionary, you know. The definitions are there for all to see. You're usually a chatterbox when you walk in here and you haven't even looked at the chocolate mousse cheesecake I set out for you. I thought it was your favorite?"

"I'm …just not hungry."

"Then what about the other thing?"

"_Other__ thing_?"

"The mission, it's not like you failed, as if you could."

"Well, not exactly."

"So, what is it?"

"It's nothing, honest."

"Then maybe you want something from Hilshire. Humph, and here I was wondering if you were a real blonde."

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" Triela screamed standing sharply upsetting the table.

"Nothing, it was just something to get your attention."

Claes stood up before jumping down from her bunk. She began picking up the plates and spilt food while Triela stood over her, fists clenched.

"You can relax. I didn't mean anything by it and it wasn't like I said anything directly toward Hilshire," Claes said; "So, are you going to tell me what's bothering you?" Claes asked gathering the remains of the table's contents.

"I suppose," Triela said relaxing her hands.

After righting the table and chairs they both sat down as Triela recited her accounts of the mission. Claes listened intently with effortless comprehension. When Triela had finished, Claes had looked off to the side, a blank expression covering her face.

"Claes?" Triela muttered staring at her looking off into nothingness.

Claes stood up and walked to the window where she stared outside for a few minutes before answering Triela.

"The fact that the mark was dead before you got there doesn't surprise me. In our line of work, we have to expect that our targets have enemies other than us. What surprises me most is that you and Henrietta were overpowered, if indirectly. You and she are nearly unstoppable when you're together. I honestly think that only a tank battalion can stop you and even _then_ they'd have a hard fight. There was just…that one time."

"Yeah, you saved our necks. I can't thank you enough."

"You don't have to."

"Huh?"

"You don't have to. You, Henrietta, Rico, and the others protect your handlers, right? Well, I don't have a handler; or at least not anymore, I think. So you girls are my wards. I protect you as you would your handlers and at times care for you as your handlers would. I see you go on your missions and hope I won't have to go after you again. Despite this calm exterior, I'm a bit of a nervous wreck when even _one_ of you is gone. So I stay in my bed reading, or in my garden removing my mind from what could happen. I…we lost Angelica already. Elsa was also hard for me to bear. I bet you never would've figured that one. If you, Henrietta, or Rico didn't come back from a mission…"

Claes let a tear fall upon the windowsill after the last statement. Triela's trained cybernetic eyes widened witnessing this. Claes never showed emotion. The only other time she did was when she slapped Angelica in the infirmary. Triela always thought of herself as the mother hen, but now watching Claes struggle to keep her emotions under control something finally clicked.

'If this were an orphanage,' Triela thought, 'I would be the kind, mothering sister and Claes would be the stern headmistress sitting quietly in the background. Rarely seen yet always within reach. Intervening only when she felt it was needed.'

Triela couldn't recall a single time when she turned down a question from one of the girls. Triela stood when she saw another tear hit the windowsill, the reason Claes slapped Angelica was clear. It was something they all knew could happen, but it wasn't something they needed to be made aware of. Recalling Angelica's words still made her shoulders feel cold. Dealing with it then might have broken her, all of them. So Claes took it upon herself, bearing the fear they all refused to face. Triela took a step forward. Claes spun around, her eyes still watery.

"I'm sorry," Claes said, "I suppose I'm having trouble controlling my emotions. Would you mind if this stayed between us?"

"Claes," Triela said looking in disbelief at the girl who had always watched them in her own way. Claes hid her emotions as a caretaker would, so not to worry her charge.

"There's glass all over that cheesecake. It's inedible, unless you enjoy going under Dr. Bianchi's knife. I should have some of that cherry custard tart from yesterday. Let me go get it. Will you please set the table, I won't be long."

Claes left the room and swiftly headed for the kitchen. Triela stood still for a minute glaring at the door. Her eyes shifted to the wall by the door and across from the bed headboards. Two pictures hung on the wall.

One was of Angelica looking toward her left and at a downward glance. Triela remembered this, it was one of the last times they saw her. She had been given the necessary repairs, but her body and mind endured too much over the years. Four days later, she died with her handler, Marco, watching beside her.

The picture to the right of that was of Elsa. Staring straight ahead, the expression on her face was like stone, which spoke volumes about her personality. While Claes was sociable when needed, Elsa was social like a glacier.

'Funny,' Triela thought, 'Elsa never liked speaking to anyone, but I wonder if she spoke to Claes at all. Come to think of it, why haven't I noticed those pictures before? Oh well.'

"Sorry I took so long," Claes said, "I decided to pick up some butter biscuits and tea as well. Thank you for setting the table already."

Triela gazed at Claes as she put down the tart and tea with serene grace. A question suddenly came to her.

"Claes," Triela said. "Have you ever danced?"

"Yes. Why do you ask?"

"It's just the way you move. It's different, less forceful then…well, then the rest of us."

"I read about ballet and thought I'd try it. It came pretty easy too."

"Hmm, I'd like to see you sometime," Triela said as she cupped her face in her hands.

"No, you wouldn't. The cybernetic replacements have a tendency to make such movements rigid. We were built for strength rather then elegance."

"That's for sure," Triela said with a smirk.

"Here, your tart and tea."

"Thank you, Auntie Claes."

"You're welcome, and how many times do I have to tell you stop adding titles to my name?"

Triela giggled taking her first bite.


	2. Chapter 2

**II**

"Do we have an ETA?" Rico asked sitting beside Jean.

"Yes, but not a definite one," Jean replied. "This mark has a habit of changing his schedule at the last minute. The only thing we know for sure is that he travels only in the daylight. That's why we're scouting this early."

Jean and Rico drove through Rome, another day at the office for both of them. Today, they would be taking out a diplomatic ambassador from the nearby nation of Turkey. This ambassador had various connections with multiple terrorist factions, but no authority had been able to prove it officially. In contrast, the allegations had only increased his popularity. In the recent months, he was championing a crusade to halt all global intelligence operations as a threat to global civil rights. Italy was the first nation on his list. The Five Republics had been siphoning money to him for years; the Social Welfare Agency had been waiting for an opportunity to present itself.

The plot was to eliminate him walking up the stairs to a newly opened hotel, which just happened to be close to the Palazzo Madama. The Agency had arranged for road work to be done during the motorcade's arrival. The current renewal project for the Piazza Navona made this easy to schedule.

A small explosive was being placed under the ambassador's car and a few thugs were hired to fire randomly into the smoke after its detonation. It would appear as if he were targeted by multiple extremists making a positive identification on where the first shot came from and a definite cause of death nearly impossible to determine.

The operation was flawless; however, there was still the problem of finding the perfect sniping position. After hours of searching up and down the street across from the hotel, they found a commercial building that was under renovation. It would be empty on the day of the ambassador's arrival and the forty-five degree angle which the location required would be perfect for what the operation was designed for.

Jean was not happy. The weather reporter said it would be a clear day with light patches here and there. Instead the sky was lit with grey and the sound of thunder could be heard in the distance. A sudden warm front the reporter called it. The explosive rigged to the ambassador's car was purposely meant to be crude making more smoke and noise than actual damage. Rainfall could cause the detonation to fail. On top of that, rainfall would limit the smokescreen to less than a minute.

Rico and he stood at a window near the top of the commercial building. The owner apparently hadn't enough money to hire a decent crew as there wasn't enough ceiling to keep the cold wind from blowing in, and there were parts of the floor missing in a few of the rooms. They're position was compromised, but the angle was just right. This soon before a point-of-opportunity, it was better than nothing.

"Let's get ready," Jean said facing Rico. Rico nodded in response and began to set up her Dragunov SVD sniper rifle.

After setting her rifle on the bipod, she proceeded to insert a cartridge and lock the rotary bolt making her rifle ready-to-fire. Rico adjusted the scope at a roof statue across the street. After adjusting the sights, she squeezed the trigger firing a paint round. Perfect alignment, the dark statue had white paint on its nose. Any onlookers would assume that a bird had favored it. Rico fired the other paint rounds to be certain and to ready the lethal ammunition in her cartridge before aiming the barrel toward the hotel entrance. Now came the most frustrating part of sniping, the wait. The next few hours were going to seem like eternity. To say Jean was irritated would be an understatement.

After three hours Jean became restless and began telling Rico to repeat the mission assignment. Rico did just that, as her conditioning demanded. After an additional hour of doing this; even Rico became restless. Jean took a final look around with his binoculars to find a hooded figure on top of a warehouse behind a T-intersection at the end of the street.

'Probably a vagabond,' Jean thought. 'Maybe he's contemplating suicide. If we're lucky he'll jump and lend an extra distraction'.

When the diplomat's motorcade finally pulled onto the street, Rico stood over her rifle. It began to sprinkle outside as a few droplets entered the open portions in the ceiling around them.

'Great,' Jean thought.

After a flash of lightning struck a rod atop a nearby building, the main car of the motorcade sped up leaving the remaining vehicles behind. Jean grunted in frustration until he let out a gasp. Rico looked up at him in surprise before looking to the street below. Binoculars weren't needed as she saw what had surprised Jean. As the motorcade sped past Jean and Rico's position, they saw the rear windshield stained bright red revealing what occurred inside. Rico began to breathe heavily as she slowly began to turn her head towards Jean.

"Rico!" Jean screamed, his eyes flaming with rage.

"I didn't fire," Rico answered quickly.

Jean looked at the Dragunov to see that it hadn't changed from its previous position. He recalled that no sound had come from the rifle. There was no smoke from the chamber which was typical of gas-operated firearms. When he looked to the ground, Jean saw no shell that housed the lethal ammunition. He looked outside and quickly concluded that the shot had to come from a straight-linear trajectory.

Jean replayed the moment in his head attempting to find something he must have missed.

'Nothing,' Jean thought. 'A sound, a flash, anything. Wait, the flash.'

The flash from the lightning followed by the deafening thunder stood out the most in Jean's recollection. It was an old sniping trick that the British SAS was still fond of. The blinding flash followed by the deafening thunder would provide more than enough of a distraction to mask the sound and flash from nearly any round fired from nearly any firearm. Jean's impassive manner fell apart as he remembered who taught him that trick. It completely shattered remembering the vagabond sitting atop that warehouse roof.

"Rico, pack up your SVD." Jean said in haste. He even helped her folding the bipod it sat on.

Rico began to worry; she had never seen him nervous before.

Soon the rifle was tucked into its case. Jean and Rico began to make their way to the stairway when someone jumped in from the roof and began to walk toward the same staircase.

A hooded trench-coat hid the person carrying a rectangular case in his left hand. The sound of the safety on a handgun was unmistakable. The stranger answered with two 9mm's of his own when he heard Rico's CZ75. The case fell to the floor opening upon impact to reveal a Maadi-Griffin Model 89 .50-calibur rifle. The dripping hood slid back; revealing a young man with matted black hair and piercing eyes the color of creamy jade.

"_You_!" Jean said with a tone resembling fear and astonishment.

Rico took this as a command firing at the young man. The young man returned fire as he began running to his side. Taking cover only to reload, the two combatants circled each other as each shot missed its mark by centimeters. Jean simply stood in awe and anger at the gunfight erupting around him.

The young man took two seconds to reload his 9mm's for the third and final time, as he squatted behind a work bench. 'How many magazines does this girl have?' he thought. 'And where the hell is she hiding them? _Please_, don't tell me she has a belt under that coat.' Three shots had sailed overhead as these thoughts escaped his mind. Raising his guns overhead, he returned fire in Rico's general direction before leaving his cover to resume the gunfight.

A shot grazed Rico's forehead driving her to take cover once more. Rico had just burned through her fifth magazine and was loading her last one when it began pouring rain. She raised her gun to find her CZ sail overhead, the young man's foot striking true. In that instant Rico stared at two Springfield Armory 9mm's pointed at each eye. Rico experienced for the first time a sensation of stone-cold awareness. The young man stared into Rico's eyes for a moment before releasing his magazines and dropping his pistols to the ground. He took a swing at Rico which she quickly dodged answering with one of her own.

The eerie feeling of awareness returned when she found her fist in the palm of the young man. Rico jumped back in surprise staring intently at her opponent. 'Within the last few minutes, this _man _has disarmed and suppressed me,' Rico thought. 'Even _Triela_ has trouble defeating me when we're sparring. We are _extranormal_, better than human are we not?'

"Not bad," the young man said briefly shaking his hand. "Now, let's see how good you really are."

Rico rushed the young man, who proceeded to dodge every one of her strikes forcing Rico to hit only air. He was playing with her and Rico began to realize this. Her conditioning suppressed most of her emotions. However, she knew Jean was watching. Rico was getting angry and to make matters worse, she was beginning to make mistakes.

An awkward recovery after a leaping spin kick was all her opponent needed as he buried his foot in Rico's chest. Rico's eyes widened in alarm and ache as her body took a second to catch up to the impact of the kick. The shocking sensation of flying backwards along with the pain of all the air escaping her lungs was a new feeling altogether. Rico sailed through three brick walls before bouncing off of a reinforced steel beam leaving her own imprint within. Compared to that, the sudden landing on the cold-concrete floor had almost been welcome.

Rico's ears vibrated continuously until she realized that it wasn't her ears that were ringing, but the support beam itself. Rico eyes widened when she looked up to see the ceiling crack. Holding her right arm in a feeble attempt to protect her; the concrete ceiling fell on top of Rico. Covered in rubble while she breathed in dust, Rico's eyes began to close and her mind became misty as she fought to keep them both open and alert.

The young man looked toward the broken walls keenly for a minute before casually turning his attention to Jean. Jean stepped to his side as the young man did the same in pace.

"It's been a long time, hasn't it ," Jean said with confidence. "Four years I believe. Where have you been? You don't call. You don't write. You just…_disappear_, in the middle of half-assed explosions no less. The French Foreign Legion could have done a better job."

"I thought I smelled your stench," the young man answered. "Still wearing cheap cologne?"

"What shall I call you? Subject Zero, maybe? What about the name _she_ gave you? No, I'm a sucker for reunions. What about… Cadet Solomon?"

"That's enough."

"How old are you now; fifteen, sixteen?"

"….."

"Okay, Cadet. You're getting sloppy, you know. This is the second time you've been seen by our Agency. The director was ready to discontinue advancement after you disappeared. He was afraid that your remains had fallen into enemy hands. Lorenzo was eventually convinced otherwise, with a little help from Bianchi and me."

"So you went through with it after all."

"Of course; the prototype proved to be a failure like her predecessor, but they are simply amazing now."

"You moved on to _more_ innocents?" the young man said before turning away, "Bastards, each and every one of you."

"Stop being melodramatic, you toy. The Agency saves lives, not corrupt them. We're rebuilding the broken. Straightening what nature made crooked. Isn't that what your precious _doctor_ wanted?"

"You're forcing them to live in servitude!"

"A mutual exchange if you ask me. That one was practically a physical invalid when I chose her for my own. You can relate, no? Wasn't everything broken, save your skull and spine?"

The young man stopped his pacing and stared into the direction of the broken walls, shivers running down his body. Closing his eyes, he tried in vain to hold back resurfacing memories.

'The second team will be here any minute,' Jean thought. 'I just have to stall a little bit longer.'

"You remember that kind of pain don't you?" Jean asked.

"…Shut up."

"Not being able to move, but every twitch filling your body w…"

The young man grabbed Jean's throat and begin to throttle him as he held him above the ground. Jean's attempted to free himself kicking and swinging wildly at Alpha, but his gasps yielded nothing as he looked into the cold wrath of Alpha's eyes.

'Too…fast,' Jean thought; his senses becoming blurry.

"Your judgment will not come today," the young man began, "but you _will_ pay for what you took from me."

Strengthening his grip on Jean's throat, he felt a small snap before Jean's head fell limp. Shrugging briefly, he still felt a pulse. Dropping Jean's body to the cold, lifeless ground, the young man's right hand moved back his trench coat in an informal way revealing a knife on his belt. He began to finger the handle of the Fairburn-Sykes commando blade as he gazed at the fallen body before him.

'Not yet, I still have a job to do.'

"Poor child," he said looking to the broken walls. "I am truly sorry."

Returning a 9mm to his pocket, the young man retrieved his case and slowly made for the staircase.

After a few struggling minutes, Rico pushed pieces of mason off of her releasing her head and left arm. Climbing out slowly; she dragged her right arm, now grotesquely broken. Gripping her hands together, Rico pulled swiftly with her left letting out a brief shriek. It still couldn't move, but her right arm was straight again.

Rico saw Jean lying unconscious and panicked immediately. Crawling out of the rubble, she found her left leg remained stuck. Rico yanked on the limb a few times before grabbing hold of a crack in the floor. Placing her right foot against the pile for leverage, she strained attempting to pull her leg free.

Rico continued to push against the heap of mason until the sound of flesh tearing echoed from the walls of the small corridor. Rico made one last wrench, ripping her leg off at the knee accompanied by a swift scream. Breathing hard, she waited a moment while the conditioning took effect. When her pain was numb; Rico pulled herself closer to Jean, marking her path as she drew near.

Reaching Jean was bittersweet for Rico as her attempts to revive him went in vain.

"Jean!," Rico continued. "Jean, please! Please get up!"

And the torrential storm thundered on; washing handler and operative.


	3. Chapter 3

**III**

"This is bad," Bianci said. "The carbon replacements in her arm and leg aren't just damaged, they're destroyed."

"I concur, "Gilliani added. "The artificial ligaments, muscle tissue, even the optic fiber nerve substitute. They all need replacing. I need to know Bianci. Is it really…_him_?"

"_Quiet_," Bianchi said in a hushed voice. "Nobody else is supposed to know. Rico's condition is the only reason _you_ haven't been sent away with the others."

* * *

Henrietta, Triela, and Claes stood in front of Rico's infirmary window. The respirator helping her breath had just completed its rhythmic hiss while the machines measuring her body functions made their steady sounds. Turning to the doctors leaving Rico's room, they used their cybernetic hearing to eavesdrop on the conversation.

After dropping the metal folder into the door compartment, Bianci and Gilliani stepped into another room. Upon hearing the door click shut, Triela walked over to the door grabbing the metal folder.

"Claes, come here," Triela said after opening the folder. "I can't understand any of this."

Taking the folder she flipped though the pages for a minute before closing it.

"What does it say, Claes?" Henrietta asked.

Claes with her eyes closed answered, "She has a severe concussion, multiple contusions, four ribs with compound fractures, and a bruised sternum."

Henrietta gasped at the laundry list of injuries, while Triela clenched her fists looking away.

"Those are pin-pricks compared the damaged cartilage in her vertebrae and she's suffering from a punctured lung. Bianci's observation shows these two injuries arose from continued stress as a result of the others."

Triela looked through the window with a strong look of worry, "It's like she got hit by a train…_twice_. Who can be strong enough to do this? We're better than human aren't we?"

Henrietta turned her gaze away from Triela, tears forming in her eyes. 'What if I can't protect José?'

The image of being in Rico's place let those tears free.

Claes stood at the window again arms folded, her heavy breaths raising and lowering them. Triela saw the two of them and did an about-face. 'I need more information,' she thought. 'I need to know who this…_him_ is and why he's after us.'

* * *

"How does that thing feel?" Lorenzo asked citing the black neck-brace Jean wore.

"Uncomfortable…and it itches," Jean answered.

The director nodded, "You know why I called you here?"

"I believe so."

"Then I'll digress with formalities. Was it _him_?"

"…Yes."

"So he continues to steal our targets."

"I'm not so sure."

"Explain."

"If you recall, the first subject harbored no resentment of his tasks. We didn't use conditioning back then. When psychoanalyzed, he stated that it was his _job_; his profession or his _trade_ as he preferred."

"So you think he was hired, by whom?"

"The first target had many enemies with rival businessmen and the Mafiosi. The second target, enemies within multiple government agencies and rival factions he hadn't _favored_.

"True enough. So he might have been a hired gun for an opposing government?"

"In full, I believe he might have been hired by our own. With the old office dissolved and his personnel file buried, there would be no way of knowing when he reentered the country."

"Interesting, that would explain his supposed knowledge of the agency. It's fortunate for us he's getting careless."

"I thought that at first."

"He left behind a Springfield V-10 didn't he?"

"Yes, but read further. I saw him release his magazines. When retrieved, that Springfield Armory had one round left in the chamber. I wouldn't be surprised if the other was the same."

"Could he have forgotten?"

"Highly doubtful, that boy was…was trained by the best. He doesn't make mistakes…he _eliminates_ them. I believe it was a challenge. He had both guns point-blank, dead center on Rico's eyes. Had he wished, he could have killed her."

"Are you positive he could have killed Rico?" Lorenzo said after a long silence.

"Without a doubt," Jean answered

"But he didn't; or you for that matter. Why?"

"I'm still trying to figure that one myself, sir."

"I'm not going to take any chances. All currently active fratello's are to leave the compound. Mark it down as assigned vacation. Instruct the handlers to remain within immediate contact range. Dr. Bianci reports that Rico's repairs will be completed within the week. However, Rico will need an additional week of rehabilitation due to the extent of her injuries and the replacements she requires."

"Yes, sir."

"Soon as Rico's rehabilitation is complete all fratello's are to return here. We'll fix this mistake of the past."

"Yes, sir. It will be done."

Jean headed to the door when Lorenzo spoke again.

"-Ahem-. I wouldn't make any arrangements just yet. Since Rico can't leave here at the present time, neither can you. "

"Of course," Jean said through gritted teeth before leaving.

Lorenzo was left alone with his thoughts. Memories of the old days; before the forming of the Social Welfare Agency resurfaced .Back then, they were a mere experimental project. The old compound in the countryside, which later became their shooting range and training facility. The first few personnel they had acquired, most of them still remained. An always smiling American child and a strong-willed Roma woman stood out most in his mind.

'Jean, had I known your past then. I would _never_ have made you their commander. Your secret is safe with me, but it may cost us more than you know. José, Hilshire; for what I must show you, I can only imagine methods of apology.'

* * *

"Vacation!!" Henrietta squealed; futile to hold her excitement and nearly dropping her tea.

"Yes, vacation," José answered delighted by her reaction. "The director believes after that last mission, we all need some time off to get refocused."

"All?"

"Yes, all."

Looking away; Henrietta asked, "So; does that mean Triela, Hillshire, and Claes will be coming too?"

"No sweetheart, "Jose said; charmed by her possessive affection. "Not all _together_. We're going back to Sicily. Triela and Hillshire are going to Naples. Claes is staying here and the others are going elsewhere.

"So it's just you and me?" Henrietta blushed.

"Of course, only this time you have to leave your violin case."

"Like last time?"

"But you may bring your sidearm."

"…José?"

"Just a precaution, that's all"

"Oh, okay."

Henrietta turned away wearing a worried expression. 'Why would José allow me to bring a 9mm, but not my automatic? Why are the fratello being sent away in the first place? I'll talk to Claes and Triela about it later. Right now, I want to enjoy being with José.'

"Maybe this time we can try some famous Sicilian coffee houses," José said. "These are becoming too common"

"But first can we go to the balcony and watch the ocean."

"Of course my dearest, first thing"

* * *

"First you come into my room without knocking, and then you tell me to pack a week's worth of clothes without telling me why. Could you be any ruder Hillshire?"

"Yes, I could order you," Hillshire said with a smug smile.

Triela instantly sat abrupt looking at Hillshire wide-eyed, "You are _so_ wrong."

"I know," said Hilshire; his smile widening. "We leave tomorrow morning, please be ready."

Triela slumped in her seat with a grunt and her arms crossed. Normally Claes would play the cynic and say something sarcastic at this point, but Dr. Bianci had already called her away. Alone to ponder the how's and why's of her position, Triela was deep in thought when Henrietta walked up to the door.

"Triela?" Henrietta called. Triela didn't respond still sitting trancelike. "Triela?!" Henrietta called again, this time startling Triela.

"Oh, Henrietta," Triela smiled at the cute, brown-haired girl in front of her. "Sorry, I didn't notice you there."

Henrietta stood in the doorway maintaining a solemn demeanor.

"What's wrong sweetie?"

"Um, can I talk to you…_alone_?"

"Yes, of course. Claes got called away, so just close the door."

"Oh, okay."

Henrietta nearly tiptoed into the room before closing the door. All this was not lost on Triela.

"What's on your mind?" Triela asked resting her face within cupped hands.

"Do…do you remember when we were sent away?" Henrietta stammered.

"Yes, during the Elsa Di Sica incident."

"Well… have they told you?"

"Yeah, Hillshire was just here giving me his two lira."

"I…I was wondering if…if this time…"

"…If we were in danger again," Triela interrupted.

'Stupid girl,' Triela thought. 'Sometimes you really are a blonde.'

After shaking her head, Triela spoke again, "Henrietta, you just gave me an answer to a question that's been nagging me."

"Huh?"

"Never mind, you know I can't lie to you Henrietta, I don't know. All I do know is that someone defeated us and hurt Rico. This someone seems to know our strengths and weaknesses. So it would be safe to assume that they know about this place as well. So they'll split us up in an attempt to flush him or her out. Divide and conquer; as they say."

"So them sending us away, is just their way of keeping us safe?"

"Yup, I wouldn't worry about it too much."

"Okay, Triela. Thank you so much."

Henrietta bounded out of the room giving Claes a greeting as she passed by. Upon hearing Henrietta's greeting, Triela sat up waiting for her to walk in. Claes walked slowly into the room staring at Triela with blank indifference. Claes stood statuesque breathing heavy as she walked.

"Claes, are you okay?" Triela asked.

Her words poured from her mouth like smooth water, "I'm receiving another handler."


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Sachi is a female Japanese name meaning bliss. Dinah is female name of Hebrew origin meaning judgment.

**IV**

Rain glazed over the roof of the tenement building like a sheet of glass. Off in a corner, a small shack stood in proud indifference. The rain poured from the slanted, sheet-metal roof; landing in glass jugs below.

The interior of the shack was that of bare necessity. A simple cot sat in a corner; next to a desk with nothing more than a lamp and phone as decorations. The shack's sole resident sat along an enlarged windowsill eating a sandwich, his piercing green eyes watching the soothing rhythm of the raindrops.

Every so often, his green eyes drifted to the folder on the table in the center of his room before his concentration would return to his meal. Closing his eyes, the young man ran a hand through his matte black hair, letting his thoughts wander to the last assignment under his current retainer.

A long yawn escaped him as he sat on a rooftop. He was normally an early riser, but never this early. The music blaring through his headphones muffled the sound of the piercing wind.

Giving himself one last stretch, he sat on the ground folding his legs. Pulling a rectangular case in front of him, he opened it to reveal a disassembled Browning BAR Safari semi-automatic rifle.

"Good morning, _Sachi_," he mutters before reassembling his rifle.

After twisting tight the silencer and adjusting the ballistic optimized shooting system, he went to work adjusting the scope. Pulling out a box of .338 Federals, he loads the magazine with three rounds dismisses three feathered vermin from the sky.

"Overkill, perhaps?" he jokes after witnessing the third round tear one of the vermin in half.

Walking to the edge of the rooftop, he eyes the serene world before him. The sun is just rising over the horizon welcoming a new day. The people are beginning their daily routines and today a man with bad intentions will breathe his last. Setting the rifle down at his side; he climbed on the ledge swinging his legs in boredom.

Hours upon hours of waiting ensued.

"You see?" he thought aloud. "This is why I like my marks in advance. It's cold, I'm hungry, and hey…was that lightning?"

Waiting a minute more, another bolt reined loose from the sky.

"One-one thousand, two-one thousand…" he counted as if to idly pass the time.

First twenty-two, then twenty, after a while he counted to fourteen before a joyous smile lit his face. Grabbing his rifle, he jumped back to the rooftop running back to his case. Sitting on the floor once more, he removed the rounds from his Browning before disassembling the rifle. After placing the gun pieces into their many places, he closed and locked the case before turning it over. Opening the other side, he revealed a disassembled Maddi-Griffin Model 89.50 caliber rifle.

Pulling out a small set of tools, he quickly assembled the rifle.

"You ready for a little fun and adventure, Dinah?" he spoke to the instrument of death.

Opening a small pouch within the case, he pulled out another smaller case. The dull metallic luster was its only decoration as the small case revealed five rounds bearing _DU__ .50 cal. _along the jacket. After loading a single round into the magazine and making it ready, he adjusted the sight to compensate for the wind.

"I know your cooped up in there most of the time old girl, but today I'll make it up to you."

The motorcade pulled onto the street exactly as his retainer had predicted. Lining up right in front of him, he took aim. Taking one breath, and then holding the next, he waited for a single flash. When it arrived, he squeezed the trigger releasing the lethal round. Putting the rifle down at his side, he squatted behind the ledge. When the motorcade sped up weaving through traffic, he knew the mission was a success.

After tucking away his rifle, he took a long lead before taking a running jump to the next building. Still running, he leaped from roof to roof toward the building his retainer told him would be safe.

* * *

Eating the last bit of his sandwich, the young man hopped down from the windowsill. Walking over to a counter area, he kneeled before a pail of water upon arrival. Afterward he dipped his hands in the cool liquid before taking a towel from a refrigerator door. Taking a bottle of milk from the refrigerator;, he walked back to the center table. Taking his Fairburn-Sykes knife in hand, he stabbed the tin lid giving it a quarter turn.

Sitting at the table, he took a swig of milk as he opened the folder. The folder contains pictures of the Section 2 facility. One-by-one, he remembered each face and body. Facial expressions, posture shifts, each subtlety was branded in his mind. Spending a few minutes with each photo, he stopped when he came to an image of a lone Triela.

There was something different about her. The eyes of this girl were hard and cold like tempered steel. Her ponytails gave off an air of innocence, yet her demeanor was one of self-confidence.

'That kind of self-assurance is meant to be earned instead of given, and this blonde innocent exhibits just that,' he thought.

After a while, he returned to viewing the other pictures, spending a few minutes with each one as he did before. Shaking his head slightly, he can't believe how similar this building layout is to the _Foundation Compound_ he remembers as a child.

"More buildings; less grass," he mutters as he continues to thumb through the photos.

Soon he came to a picture of Jean wearing a gray suit. Standing behind two men, he displayed an anxious atmosphere. Without realizing it, he stood up staring hard at the picture. With a measured breath he let's all the other photos fall to the floor. Bitter memories surfaced in his mind and played through all at once. It was like watching the story of your life, but only being able to focus on the more terrible moments.

After several minutes he utter a simple phrase, "I remember _you_."

In an instant he released the picture tossing his blade at the photo. The knife imbedded itself in the picture carrying it to the wall. The knife pierced the photo directly in the center of Jean's image.

_To be continued_


	5. Special Chapter: The Elsa Factor

_A/N: These special chapters are transcribed from recordings made by Dr. Bianchi. They are addendums or self-lecture about certain events within the Social Welfare Agency and how this story affects them._

**Special Chapter: The Elsa Factor**

BEGINNING OF RECORDING

(throat clearing)

This is Dr. Ricardo Bianchi. The date is the XX of the XX month in the year 20XX. At the request of Director Giacomo Lorenzo, I am making a psychological assessment on Subject: Elsa in regards to recent developments.

(Not that anybody will hear or see this anyway)

While the conditioning process continues to be developed, I am confident in saying that progress has been consistent and complimentary with the expectations made by the main office. However, recent events have caused unforeseen setbacks. While on an outing with her handler Lauro; Subject: Elsa experienced what can only be called…a malfunction in her personal conditioning thought process. The malfunction in question; caused the death of her handler Lauro and of herself as well.

This was a great loss to the agency as Lauro was the perfect example of what I personally believe a handler should be. Not only were his training methods effective and efficient, but he exhibited no attachment whatsoever to his cyborg, making him ideal for reinsertion when his ward expired. In that same regard, Elsa was an ideal cyborg, who carried out her missions to the exact specifications made by her handler. As such, they were the primary fratello for…specialized missions.

(heavy, even paced breathing)

After interviewing various members of the staff and the fratello as well; I can assess that unlike her counterparts, Elsa was distant and unsocial to a fault. She never made attempts at socialization unless it was required of her. From my interview with Subject: Triela; she stated that attempts were in fact made on her part yet were constantly shunned away.

An interesting addendum to this would be the interview with Subject: Henrietta, who stated that during a conversation with Elsa, Elsa herself mentioned that her handler was more important to her than any of the staff and even her fellow cyborgs. Apparently, Elsa went so far as to threaten Henrietta's life should she quote; _get in Lauro's way_; unquote.

Further interviews with the staff described Lauro as a cold man who treated his cyborg as a tool and nothing more, much like our current _Warehouse Supervisor_. In contrast, it would seem that the cyborgs favor praise and perform better for it as a trained animal would. To further this, agents Guiseppe and Hillshire have a certain bond with their wards that seems to aid them in the field.

Upon examination of Elsa's room, I found no such gifts or rewards. It is safe to assume that Lauro gave no such rewards or praise to Elsa thereby instilling a feverish work ethic. She worked hard to please her handler, yet received nothing…in return…interesting.

It is upon this analysis that I request more time to analyze and perfect the conditioning process. Regardless of the treatment received by their handlers, the cyborgs must be completely obedient and at the service of their handlers at all times. As discussed; the attachment mechanism apparent within the brainwashing treatment is essential for obedience, but must be heavily regulated to ensure that another such incident never comes to pass.

Wait; the _black box_…a tandem?

It couldn't be.

Could it?

Damn!!

END OF RECORDING


End file.
